From Eden
by Matiky
Summary: You have only known temporary salvation. She offers you pure absolution.
1. To her Office

**Disclaimer: This is my own work of fan fiction with characters based off of the show, "Rizzoli and Isles" on TNT.**

* * *

_Is someone calling me, _you think, finding it difficult beneath the dense fog that had settled onto your mind.

You're pretty sure you are lying down, although your head feels a bit tilted.

You know you drank more than you should from the acrid taste in your mouth.

You hear the clinking of glass and so someone else must be in the room.

They come closer to you, and you smell spice. Somehow, it warms you from the inside out.

They say something to you, but you can't really make out the words. For some reason, you picture white lilies.

You crack open an eye.

Then quickly shut it and groan.

They settle down next to you. "Jane?"

You definitely hear her this time. Her fingers trace along your forehead where you've furrowed. She gently pushes back hair that must have been plastered to your face. You lean into her caress.

_Maura._

"Jane," she says again, softly.

Slowly this time, you open both eyes.

The first thing you make out through the blinding brightness is a pair of green eyes looking back at you.

"Maura," your voice cracks.

She smiles at you. Automatically, you grin back. A pained, and small grin, but she seems to take it as a good sign.

"Here's some water." She keeps her voice calm and quiet as she pushes a cold bottle of water you're your hand. You manage to sit up enough to take a few sips.

You start to feel a bit more awake. You look around the room. Tribal masks, medical books, desk. You are in Maura's office, lying on her less-than-comfortable 'designer' couch.

"What am I doing here," you ask yourself.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," she says as she crosses her legs and leans into yours. She looks at you, waiting to hear the story.

_I wanted to see you_. "I had a few."

"Yes, I figured out that much." She gestured to her desk where she had relocated your bottle of whiskey and glass. "I didn't figure you a whiskey drinker."

"I'm not, usually." You take another sip of water. "Only when I need it."

Understanding flashes through her eyes. "Ah, the Brighton case."

Shayna Brighton. You exhale deeply and bury your face in your hand as the pain and frustration with that case floods back.

She was a runaway found dead just within Boston's city limits. She was 16 years old, killed by a bullet to the back of the head. Shayna Brighton was also 5 months pregnant with a girl. DNA of the fetus was tested against the database and found the father was Samuel Birch; leader of a so called 'religious sect' and under FBI surveillance for fraud and suspicious activities. You and your team were granted a warrant to search his compound for the gun used in Shayna's murder. You found the weapon. But you had to let Birch walk because you could not place him at the scene of the crime or get any of Birch's followers to testify against him. Your instincts screamed at you that he did it.

Meanwhile, the FBI used your case as grounds to raid the compound. They uncovered a mass grave of infants and close-to-term fetuses; eighteen bodies total. All of them were girls. Turns out, one of Birch's beliefs was that the world needed more good men like himself. So, he impregnated most of his female followers and only fathered boys. That's why Shayna ran with her baby girl, to have a chance. That's why you know Birch killed her.

And you can't convict him for it.

"She deserved better," you say, trying to keep tears from spilling.

"Out of life or from you?"

_From me._ You don't say it out loud, but Maura hears it anyway.

She takes the water bottle, places it on the table, and pulls your hands into hers. She grips tightly, forcing you to look at her. "Jane, you did everything you could. I know it feels like you lost one, but you did your job."

You snort. "Easy for you to say." Your defenses are kicking in.

They kick into Maura.

She drops your hands, her face turns away from you. "It's actually not."

You know you said the wrong thing, but you are not sure exactly how to fix it. "Tell me," is all you can offer.

She faces you again, her green eyes a bit misty. You hate that you are the cause of it.

When she speaks, her voice is terse and strained. "I think you have forgotten two things. The first, is that every case you work on, is also a case I work on; I also feel when we've lost."

You look down, ashamed of yourself for discounting Maura's presence as part of your team.

"The second," she continues, "is that I have literally lost lives in my hands when I was overseas. Although it was a lifetime ago, I can still tell you about each one."

You internally chastise your hung-over mouth. _Shit, you idiot. _

You wonder what sort of memories haunt her. You want to ease them from her.

You take her hands; they're so small yet sure in yours. You try to apologize with a touch and a look. "How did you deal with that?"

She looks back at you, forgiving you with a squeeze of her hands. "I continue to do my job. And I take a victory when I can, even if it might not seem like much."

"But Birch deserves worse than what court law can possibly punish him with," you spit out. "Because of Shayna. Because of all those baby girls. Because of every life he's ruined. Because he is a monster." You feel yourself shudder with emotions. You look towards the bottle of whiskey.

Maura reaches out and cradles your cheek. You instantly snap your attention back onto her.

"Birch is going to jail. He's going to be punished for a very long time because of his warped ideals, which includes the murder of Shayna Brighton. That's a victory, Jane." She holds your gaze, green eyes pleading for you to believe her.

You do.

"Thanks, Maur," you whisper. You take deep breath in. Spices. You feel calm now.

"Of course," she brushes away a tear that escaped your eye. "Now, come on, let's get you up. You need to continue to do your job. Your shift starts in half an hour."

You groan as she helps pull you up from the couch. When you stand upright, she's at eye level with you; that only ever happens when you are barefooted and when she is wearing heels. You notice how close you two are.

_Did Maura always have that freckle on her upper lip, _you wonder. You feel light headed. You tell yourself it's a head rush.

"Jane, you really shouldn't sleep in your button downs. The polyester blend wrinkles readily enough without overnight use," she says seriously to you as she fiddles with your untucked shirt.

You hold in a giggle and it settles to a smirk, "Relax, Maura. I have spare clothes in my locker."

"Well thank goodness for that."

You roll your eyes.

"And remember, to get through your hangover drink lots of water and eat a light breakfast. Maybe a banana and some toast? Definitely no coffee."

You grumble, "Thank you, Dr. Isles."

She smiles. You pick up your boots, and turn to leave when she stops you.

"Jane, you're forgetting these," she grabs the bottle and glass on her desk and brings it to you.

"Oh, right," you wrap them up in your jacket. You know she's watching you, probably taking note of how full the bottle is.

"By the way," she leans in a bit closer, "you never said why you came down to my office." She looks at you, expectantly.

You pause. _Do I dare?_

"I knew it," she exclaimed.

You brace yourself.

"You do think my couch is comfortable." She beams at you, showing off all her dimples and claps as if she's won something.

You think it's the best hangover cure in the world.

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**A/N: i _finally_ put something up on here. it's my first ever piece of fan fiction and i'm excited to hear what you think.**

**inspired from the song "From Eden" by Hozier. **


	2. To Your Apartment

_She looks hot_.

You cringe at your dull eloquence. But 'hot' is most definitely an accurate description when Maura Isles walks into the Robber in tight black jeans and a leather jacket.

She finds you sitting at the bar.

You step off your stool.

She catches you.

"Hey, Maura" you say a bit loudly. You give her a big hug.

She hugs you back and giggles in your ear, "Well hi, Jane." She looks at you oddly. "Is that your last one," she asks, pointing to your glass.

"Um, it can be," you reply a bit confused.

"I thought you wanted me to drive you home?" She tilts her head to the side. You think it's adorable.

"Did I?" You unintentionally mimic her adorable head tilt.

She says your name in a warning manner, "Jane."

You smile, sure to show off some Rizzoli dimples, "Yes?"

She takes a breath, puts down her drink, and crosses her arms. "You don't remember calling me to come here, do you?"

You take a sip of whiskey, pursing your lips together tightly as you feel the bit of cool fire roll you're your tongue and down your throat.

Your silence answers for you.

"Right. You must have had more than a few this time," she says a bit disappointed as she shakes her head.

You know you should feel a bit sorry, but your interest is currently taken up by Maura's hair. It seems to shine like it is made from the richest gold, but it moves and curls almost like liquid.

You want to run your hands through it.

She notices the shift in your attention. "Jane!" She startles you.

"What? Jeez, I was listening," you huff at her.

She takes your tone for belligerent. "Come on, Jane. I'm going to give you a lift home."

She tries to take your drink. You childishly avoid her and gulp down the rest of the amber liquid. You put the glass down yourself and cheerfully say, "Okay, let's go."

She sighs.

You think she's mad at you.

She gives you an up and down, as if considering something, turns to the bar, and shoots her drink. She doesn't even flinch.

_Like a fucking boss._

Green eyes find yours. You might have gulped. "Come on," Maura says again. This time she grabs your hand and pulls you to the exit.

You are both sitting in her car. She has her keys out, but doesn't place it in the ignition. Instead, she turns to you. "So are you going to tell me why you needed whiskey tonight?"

You exhale deeply, running your fingers through your always messy hair. "Really, Maura? Definitely not the direction I was thinking of going with you tonight."

"No?" She frowned, momentarily confused at my meaning. "Well, too bad. How about you talk to me about what this is about? Dante Moretti?"

Dante Moretti. He was one of the old neighborhood boys you grew up with. You first met him at pick-up games; you two were always picked last because you were the only girl that played with the boys and he farted every time he ran. You guys weren't exactly close but he was always a decent guy. He occasionally gave you that extra pudding pack in his lunch from his mom in elementary school, he wasn't a drunken ass to you at those obnoxious house parties, he waived your check at the restaurant he was working at when your date decided to 'dine and dash' without you. He was a nice guy.

The last time you saw Dante Moretti, he was cold and dead, lying on the autopsy table. Dante ended up getting a knife in the stomach. He died en route to the hospital. Your team canvassed the neighborhood to try and get some witnesses. A young man, Joey Hart, came forward with the story. Dante stumbled upon a gang of boys harassing Joey and stepped in to break it up. The knife came into play and once everyone saw Dante down and bleeding, they ran. It appeared the gang had harassed Joey before because he was gay, but that night it seemed they were intent on killing him. Dante ended up saving Joey's life.

So you ended up making the arrests. Your witness positively identified the entire gang, including who stabbed Dante. Case closed.

Yes, you are still thinking about Dante. You want more whiskey.

"Woah, someone's guessing." You try to distract with sarcasm.

"I don't guess, Jane," Maura reminds you. "I was chatting to Angela about it before I got your call."

_Maura, please. _You rub your fingers against your temple where you feel flames licking on the inside.

"She also told me about the candlelight vigil for him tonight. Why didn't you go with your mom and your brothers?"

_Seriously, Maura._ You clench your jaw on words that want to roar out.

"She was worried about you."

"Damn it, Maura!" You couldn't help it. "Why do you have to be a buzz kill?"

"I am not a buzzkill," she retorts. But you hear the hurt in her voice.

You shut your eyes. You aimlessly hurl one more at her in frustration. "It's not like you even had a childhood friend so how were you expecting to relate?" The blow lands.

You think you hear her heart break a bit.

Your heart echoes in reply.

She starts the car.

The ride to your apartment was silent, not a word between the two of you.

You feel ill. It could be the alcohol, but you think there's an acidic residue in the air from the words you spewed.

She pulls up in front of your place and doesn't turn off the car.

"I'm an ass." It's a peace offering.

Maura sighs, slumps her shoulders, and turns off the car. "Yes, you are." It's an invitation to continue.

You lean your forehead against the cool glass of the window beside you. You take a breath to try and gather up some courage and sincerity. You talk to the dashboard. "You are an intelligent, adorable, quirky, caring woman and I will never understand how anyone could have missed that."

She places a hand on your knee. You reflexively cover your hand over hers. "And," you shyly look her in the eyes to say, "you are the best friend I've ever had."

_Please don't hate me._

She squeezes your knee, "I feel the same, Jane."

You breathe in a sigh of relief.

"Now as said best friend, what about Dante Moretti has you upset?"

You contract.

"Jane," Maura grabs the hand that held hers, "talk to me."

You take one look at her, and all you see is how much she wants you to trust her. Your resolve shifts.

"He was an idiot," you say with a somber anger.

"What?" She's very much unsure of what you mean.

"Dante was a normal guy, you know? As far as I can remember, he was pretty much average in everything; popularity, looks, smarts, sports, whatever. He was a good guy, but for the most part, he wasn't a stand out. So why did he fucking have to stand out that day?" Your hands fly up for emphasis. You look at Maura for understanding.

She sits patiently, letting you finish.

"He had a nice life. Found out he was dating this girl, Lorena, for about a year. We found an engagement ring in his possession." You take a breath, trying to not be overwhelmed by your own drunken emotions.

"If he would've fucking kept his head down," your voice breaks.

"Joey Hart would most likely be dead instead," Maura finishes for you.

"Yeah, I know." You feel stupid resentment as tears edge out of your eyes. "But, Dante would—"

"-still be an average guy. Although it's sad, at least now people can say, 'Date was a stand-up guy.'" She smiles at you because she knows she got the colloquialism right.

You laugh, and wipe some snot from your nose. Maura hands you a tissue out of nowhere.

"How did you do that," you ask as you blow your nose.

"I always carry tissues, Jane. I tend to be quite sensitive to allergens."

"No, not the tissues, Maura" you dismissively wave your hand. "I mean," you pause, letting your heart speak, "how do you see light when faced with darkness?"

She pointedly states, "All clouds have the possibility of casting a rainbow, given the right angle of light."

You smile broadly at her. A giddiness overtakes your body. "Okay, well would you like to come up and toast to Dante's rainbow?"

She grimaces.

"Just with water, I swear. I don't think Dante would mind."

You both walk up to your place but halfway you need to lean on Maura as the world loses its balance beneath you. When you make it into your apartment, you stabilize yourself against your kitchen counter.

Maura grabs two glasses and fills it with water from the filter pitcher she insisted on buying for you.

You take a glass and chug it down. She hands you the second one and refills the first for the toast. She leans against the counter space beside you, slips off her jacket, and waits.

You clear your throat as you think of the right words to say. But all you can think of are Maura's. You raise your glass, Maura follows. "To Dante. He was a stand-up guy."

"To Dante," Maura echoes.

You both smile and clink glasses. You're alleviated.

For a few moments you stand side by side, sipping water. At some point, she leans her head onto your shoulder. You close your eyes for a minute, savoring the feel of your cheek nestled against Maura's magical hair.

"Jane?"

"Yeah?" You are half asleep.

"It's getting late, I'm going to have to say good night."

"Maur," you whine, "it's already late. And since I called you to get me, the least I can do is offer you my bed to crash."

She steps in front of you to face you. "That sounds nice."

"Good. That's settled. Now, I think I'm gonna say good night to you and get some sleep."

You pull her into a hug. You misjudge how close she already was, so you pulled her quite flush against you. You felt the warmth of her body along all of yours. Her arms circled your waist, her head nuzzles under your chin. You lazily run your hands up and down her back. This was definitely nice.

"So was this the direction you intended us to go tonight?"

You laugh into her hair. _Oh, you little minx._

You feel her laugh with you.

She hugs you tighter. With a hint of hesitation, she whispers, "Or was it more in the direction of your bedroom?"

You think your heart stops. You don't know if you've ceased breathing or the air has gone out of the room.

You seriously consider it.

You tilt Maura's face up towards yours. Your gazes lock and hers is filled with honesty. You bring a hand to her neck and run a thumb along her bottom lip. You feel your own lips part in anticipation.

Your imagination has led you to situations like this with Maura before. You admit to yourself that she's all you really want. But the buzz in the back of your head warns you that this probably isn't the best state of mind to do this.

You sigh. "No, not tonight."

She sighs as well.

_Don't think it's because I don't want to._

She plays with your shirt collar. "Now who's the buzzkill?"

You both laugh again. She's gotten really good at the jokes. You place a kiss on her forehead, lingering a bit longer to be sure she knows…

"Good night, Maura"

She pulls back from your embrace. She looks like she's trying not to look sad. "Good night, Jane." She heads to your bedroom.

You face plant into the couch. You're pretty sure you did the right thing.

You think about Maura until your mind drifts into dreaming about her.

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**A/N: how cool to see follows, favorites, and to hear from you sweet people! it is very encouraging. yes, i'm continuing on with this story; i plan to have 4 chapters. i'm still a bit unsure about the ending, but for the most part i know where this is going. hope you enjoy the story :)**


	3. To A Party

_All she needs is wings, _you think as Maura Isles walks towards you in a white dress.

You haven't seen her in a week. You chained your door and turned off your cellphone. You shut her out.

She still tried. She knocked on your door for half an hour one day. She called out to you, over and over as, you blasted music through your speakers. The neighbors complained. So she slipped notes under your door instead.

The only one you read was on official BPD letterhead, stipulating the required amount of therapy hours that must be completed before you would be allowed on active duty. You had torn that one up and threw it away. Then you found, in the mess that was on your kitchen counter, that invitation for the charity event. Maura had given it to you weeks ago. You remembered she wanted you to go with her.

That's why you're here. That's why you're standing in the elegant white tux she picked out for you.

But, right now, your mind is folded into the depths of green that look back at you.

She speaks.

You feel the caress of a breeze from a summer's night.

She clutches your hands, your arms.

You smile at her. You notice she's not smiling back.

"Jane," she says sternly, "do you know where you are? How did you get here?"

"Maura," you frown, concerned "who stole your smile?" You stroke her cheek where your fondest dimple should be.

"Okay, Honey," she says, now with more worry. She takes your hand, "Come with me."

She leads you through a sea of white clothed bodies.

You don't like how these angels look at you. Their noses elongate as they point it upwards at you. They frown down at you, as if your presence leaves a bad taste in their mouths.

_They know what I did. _

You begin to spin down.

"We're almost there, Jane," she says, now with an arm around your waist as your arm drapes around her shoulder.

Your mind joins the present again. The crowd had disappeared and you are walking down a hallway. You and Maura. You begin to recall the speech you had practiced a few drinks ago.

"I came here for you, Maura." They're not the words you planned to say, but you mean them all the same.

She pauses and glances at you sideways. She shudders in a breath and blinks rapidly before carrying on. "We're almost there, Jane."

Your mind drifts again.

You notice dark whorls along the walls, devouring brightness from overhead. You run your hand along it. It's solid. Just wood.

The carpet sucks at your feet. You look down, transfixed at how it absorbs the sound of each step you take. Almost like you are not here.

Somehow you find yourself sitting down.

Maura crouches in front of you, in her white dress and heels, her hair swept away from her neck into an elaborate up-do. She offers you water. She cools your face with a wash cloth. She looks at you with such concern.

"Stop," you say abruptly. You stand up. You instantly fall back onto the couch.

"Easy, Jane. Take it easy." She sits down next to you. One hand strokes your cheek, the other soothes your wrist. "I need you to look at me, Jane."

You only partially hear her as you continue to fall further into your mind.

Maggie Sullivan.

Blue eyes pleaded with you to shoot. She was crying, red hair a mess. JJ, her husband and prime murder suspect, had her in a choke hold, his face buried in her hair. He used her as a shield, the gun against her temple.

JJ shouted at you and your team to stay back. He nudged at a mostly emptied gas can by their feet. They were both soaked, gasoline mixing in with their tears.

He yelled at her, blamed her for Terrence's murder. It was her fault. She shouldn't have tried to leave. That she was the best thing he had and he'd be damned if anyone was going to take her away.

She choked out their tortured history of love. She stayed with him through a lot, but to stay with him any longer would ruin her for future happiness. She wanted to be happy. Terrence made her happy.

You tried to talk him down, tried to stop her from provoking him. But he was hysterical.

He kept trying to convince her she loved him.

She can't any longer.

He kept saying how they were meant to be together forever.

She begged him to let her go.

Till death do us part.

He pulled the trigger before you could. Against his own temple.

A flame consumed both their bodies.

She screamed. Like nothing you've ever heard before; as if her soul was being incinerated. It wasn't the howling inferno that froze you in your spot. It was her eyes; they seemed concentrated on yours. Blue eyes intensified by pain and regret. They shone out sorrows of her heart.

And then they burned.

Maggie Sullivan. Shrieked as someone tackled her and JJ's body to the ground. Whimpered as the fire was put out. Then there was nothing left.

You vomit.

Your cheek is resting on toilet paper covering a toilet seat.

Hands are holding your hair from your face. They touch with mercy. You feel pity.

You swat them away and roll onto the floor. You stare up at the swirling lights above you. She steps into your view, her face centers your focus.

_How are you so perfect?_ It comes out as a groan.

"Jane, how are you feeling," she asks.

Her words wash over you like sunshine that streams through the treetops as you float along a river.

"Couldn't be better." It somehow sounds like sarcasm.

She sighs, "Right." She holds out her hand.

You don't take it. Instead, you awkwardly heave yourself up onto your feet. You avoid bumping into her and slowly make your way out of the stall and onto the couch.

She follows you at a respectful distance. Then, hesitantly, sits down next to you.

You see her thinking, trying to determine the best words to say. "I wish you wouldn't," you rasp out.

She blinks at you, "Sorry?"

You scoff. "You don't need to apologize to me, of all people."

She instinctively reaches out to you, but then drops her hands back in her lap.

_Is she afraid of me, _you wonder._ Good._

"Jane," she says quietly, "please let me know that you're okay."

You start laughing, "The fuck I am, Maura." You lean back into the couch. You desperately want to drown in whiskey right now.

She reads your mind. "Whiskey won't help you, Jane. Clearly, it has never helped you."

"It helps me," you argue back at her. Then, more calmly, you explain, "It makes me feel something else."

"Something else besides…?"

"Maur, just leave it."

Maybe it was either the use of her nickname or the use of an ambiguous phrase, but Maura suddenly lost her cool.

"No, Jane. I'm not going to 'leave it'." She's standing up to pace the room, her hands gesturing wildly. "You don't simply shut people out and expect them to not worry. We've all been worried about you. I've been worried about you." She stops in front of you.

You stand up slowly. Mostly because you don't want to fall again, but you hope it looks intimidating. "Maura," you say, careful to keep from angrily lashing out, "I cannot talk to you about this."

"Why not Jane? Why is this different from any other time?" She steps closer to you. A whiff of her perfume nearly sends you crumbling.

Nearly. "Because even you can't make this better."

"Jane, I know it must've been awful," she tries to reassure you, "but you are not to blame."

_But I am. I was too late. I didn't do my job. I froze. And two more bodies ended up on your autopsy table. _You want to yell all this at her, but the words catch in your throat.

Maura's eyes, fiercely look at you with frustration and caring. Green, but a very uniquely Maura-Isles green. You love them.

Then you imagine them burning.

You sob. Sobs become panicked breathing. You're unable to control the grief and it streams down your face.

She pulls you into a hug and places soothing kisses on your forehead. "Oh, Jane. It's going to be okay." She thinks you're dealing with it.

Your body shakes. Part of you wants to stay in her embrace. Your arms squeeze her closer. Part of you cringes as she burns you. Your hands ghost over uncovered skin.

She stays with you like that before loosening the hug. "You're going to stay at mine. You'll sleep what I'm assuming is an entire bottle of whiskey off and we'll talk more in the morning." She looks so hopeful. "Just give me a minute to excuse myself to the hosts." She leaves you.

You try and shake the image. You turn to the sink and catch yourself in the mirror. Your hair has come a bit undone from its low bun. Your blouse has shifted into an oddly tucked state. Your jacket is frumpled. Your face looks sallow and your eyes bloodshot; your make-up long since rubbed off. You splash some water on your face, trying to sober yourself up a bit. For Maura.

You look up at the mirror again. JJ Sullivan stares back.

Soaking in gasoline, holding a gun to his head. Yelling about meant-to-be's and destiny and forever. He pulls the trigger.

You hear Maura scream. It echoes off the bathroom walls. It reverberates in your chest. Your heart cries out.

You stumble out of that bathroom.

You find a back exit.

You run.

* * *

**A/N: so this is coming out a bit darker then i was expecting. hope you're still with me. one more to go! yes, it's a rizzles ending, but no promises it's an entirely happy one...thanks to all the people following, favoriting, and/or reviewing! **


	4. To Sit Outside Her Door

_It wasn't Maura_. _It wasn't her._ You keep repeating the words over and over in your head as you run. _It wasn't Maura._ You try to unclench your lungs with each deep breath in. _It wasn't her_. You try to drown out the echoed scream with each beat of your heart.

_You are not JJ._ The feebleness of that thought seeps downwards; the heel of your shoe breaks. You end up sprawled out onto grass. You forgot you were even wearing heels.

You lie there, not even fighting the anguish as it seizes your body. _I don't want to hurt her. _

Dr. Maura Isles.

Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. You met her along with the rest of the detectives when she started over a year ago. You, like most of the guys in the room, were checking her out. For the guys, that was no surprise, but it was unlike you. You couldn't help it, she was ethereal.

She had on a yellow blazer, her golden hair down in elegant curls, her makeup unnecessarily brought out her eyes. She smiled at you.

You were unsettled. You figured it was simply her staggering beauty.

At first, to keep up your delusion you scoffed, like the rest of them, at her uncompromising control and exhaustive analysis of each crime scene. But as you watched her work, you were impressed with her professionalism and accuracy. She was dedicated. And damn good at her job.

Other detectives found her socially awkward, spouting random facts like a cyborg. Although you didn't mind it, you clung to the idea that she was all brains and no heart. You went down to the morgue late one evening and saw her virtuous devotion—Maura was consoling the dead. She gently laid a hand on a recent victim's head and promised to be thorough and find every piece of evidence that would lead to the killer. She was in her scrubs and gear, but she seemed just as naked as the girl on her table.

You were taken by her. It had only been two weeks.

You found yourself excited to go to work, which hadn't happened since years ago. You enjoyed working with this quirky, fashion loving, science geek of a woman. Maura seemed to like working with you as well and she began helping on more of your cases. You two started hanging out for lunch, coffee, breakfast, and drinks after work, leading to spending time outside of work and the BPD vicinity. You found out so much more about her—she's well-traveled, cultured, smarter than you originally thought, generous, caring, honest, selfless, strong, and adorable. You began to feel a fierce loyalty and protection over this more than capable woman because of the genuine good in her. Yet, you were confused why Maura Isles wanted to be around you, a simple blue-collar detective with less class than Maura's little finger, but you wanted her to stay.

One night, as you were both falling asleep on her couch after what had come to be your routine dinner and movie, she said she was so glad to have you as a friend. You smiled sleepily, a reflex. She was happy, and that was your doing, so yeah, you smiled. But then, an uneasiness. It could have been because you didn't think you deserved her friendship; there was still a lot she didn't know about you. It may have been that you wished to be more than friends.

_And shit, looks like you don't deserve her at all, _you think as your bare feet hit the pavement of Boston streets. Somehow you were walking again, broken pair of shoes in hand.

As you walk, you begin to sober up. Your actions tonight wash over you.

_You're such a dick, _you berate yourself. You take off your tux jacket and fold it over your arm.

_What does she even see in you? _You sigh and untuck your blouse. You undo a few buttons by your neck.

_What makes you think you'd be good for her? _You take your hair down and angrily mess your curls.

You look up and found your feet had lead you to her door. _You need to apologize before she completely cuts you out of her life._

You raise a hand to knock.

You turn around to sit on the steps, outside her door. You feel everything threatening to rush out again. Your anger and fear and despair; your inadequacies. You need to dull them, before they gut you.

The door opens behind you. "Jane!"

Butterflies. You find you've missed her voice.

She hugs you immediately even though you both end up in an awkward position on her steps. She has changed, now in jeans and a sensible pair of heels.

For a moment, you are pacified. Then feeling her arms hold you with such tenderness, after everything, brings you to close your eyes in shame.

"I was just about to go back out and look for you. I was so worried." She kept her embrace, burying her face in your curls. As if they gave her comfort. "I'm so glad you're here," she breathes. Like she's unveiling a secret.

You feel tears on your cheek. You are unsure if they are yours or hers. They prompt your apology.

You shakily begin, "Maur, I have so much I want to apologize for." You try to find courage. "For tonight, this past week. I'm just such a fucking mess. And I know. And I wanted to keep you far from it. But then, like tonight…" You choke on disgust for your actions.

She hugs you tighter. Safe haven. Like the pillow forts you made when you were younger.

_I want to be better for you. _"Why do you put up with me," you mumble into her shoulder.

She pulls back from you, surprise etched on her face. She softly cradles your jaw in one hand. Your eyes focus on hers without hesitation. "I thought it was obvious," she says with a glimmer of something you don't quite understand.

You stare at her silently, trying to move the sludge in your brain so that you can properly decipher the crinkles in her brow and the strokes she leaves on your cheek and hands. All you can think is how radiant she is.

She sees your struggle and smiles slightly. She lets out a small, astonished "Hm," seemingly pleased to know something you don't.

She stands, pulling your hands with her. You get up. She leads you into the house.

Her house is the best. It's like you're immersed in all things Maura. You smell floral notes of various arrangements Maura has around the house as well as that spiced perfume she always wears. You relax as the neutral toned walls soften the already dimmed lights. Maura sits you down on the couch next to her, still holding onto your hands.

Sanctuary.

You were sitting there for a while, your hands in hers, the quiet of the night between you.

"Do you think about the future," she asks you in practiced offhand.

_Yes. _"Not really."

"I don't believe that." She turns to face you. "Everyone thinks about their future even if it is only a few days into it; even if it is only a small hope for yourself."

You'll both be at home, lounging in your pajamas, enjoying a late morning on your day off. She'll do something adorably annoying and you'll playfully wrestle with her. While she's laughing and trying to get away, you'll take her hand and slide on the ring you had hidden from her for weeks. She'll stop, shocked. She'll smile at you, teary eyed. She'll say nothing but will kiss you all the ways for 'Yes.'

"It hurts too much to hope," you say quietly.

She pushes back the strands of curls you try to hide behind. "Do you try anyway?"

You'll be at the park, a small boy in a grass-stained red sox t-shirt tosses you the baseball you'll get him for his fifth birthday. Maura will call you from a picnic blanket, a kid-friendly, yet nutritious lunch carefully set out. You'll chase the boy. He'll giggle and run, squealing into the arms of his mommy, his dark curls will fly about wildly. You'll playfully tackle both, tickling and showering them with kisses. You'll lovingly look at your family; two sets of green eyes will smile back at you. You'll find yourself in a tangled heap, everyone giggling with excess happiness.

"It's hard to." Your voice is gravely as you admit, "It's hard to believe in a future when the past keeps wrecking everything." _When you keep wrecking things. _

"I think of the future." She looks squarely into your eyes.

You'll both be old and greyed. She'll still look absolutely stunning; white hair neatly pulled into a bun, dimples set a little deeper, green eyes still glimmering. You'll be there, sitting, holding hands, looking at each other. Still in love.

"I think of the future," she says again, "and I find it makes it easier to let the past lie."

You take a deep breath in.

She shifts closer to you. "The future I imagine, is something I want so much."

Your heart begins to clench.

She holds your face between her hands, her green eyes glisten with tears and peer into yours with such intensity you don't think you can look directly at them. "I want it so much that I drop the past and run as hard as I can to get to that future."

"Maura," you sob, pained. All your defenses laid to waste at her feet.

"Jane," she begs. Her thumbs wipe away tears from your cheeks, your eyelashes. They trace along your eyebrows, one follows down your nose. "Please. Drop the past."

You want to so much. Except, you know there'll be more cases that get to you. _You can't promise her you'll be perfect._ You drop your head into her hands.

She pulls your face up towards her again. "Please, Jane. Leave it behind you. Be here with me now." She kisses your right cheek.

You shudder. You only ever wanted to be with Maura. _But you're gonna hurt her._ You shake your head.

She stops you. "Let it go. Please. Come with me instead." She kisses the corner of your left eye lid.

You fall against her forehead. You bring a hand up to her neck. You feel her body humming. "Maura, I—"

Her lips are against yours. Beseeching.

You melt. You explode. You fly. You are liberated.

You pull her closer, your fingers tangling in her hair. Affirmation.

She tastes like permanence. She feels like inevitability.

You carefully pull a part. You look into those pools of green.

_Maura._

Your future seems infinitely closer. You allow yourself to hope.

* * *

**A/N: i kind of love it. what did you guys think?**

**the end! thanks so much for sticking through this with me :) i feel quite accomplished, having finished this first ever fanfic. i do have plans for more. i've been toiling with a few, trying to figure out some of the details. maybe a lighter one next?**


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